by Paul Lederer
‘Holly, you know as well as I do that these are rough men and any one of them could be goaded into it if he thinks he’s getting a raw deal.’
She rose immediately. ‘I’ll speak to them again – if I can get them to quiet down enough so that they’ll listen to me.’ She started towards the door, paused and said over her shoulder. ‘Supper’s in an hour or so. You have time to wash up.’
Again Alicia shot a glance at Trinity; again she said nothing. He guessed the cook liked to know how many portions to cook before the table was to be set.
Trinity had gotten to his feet when Millicent Bates, looking cool and other-worldly, swept into the steamy room. There was a cup in her hand. She glanced at Trinity, half-smiled, and said to the cook:
‘I seem to have run out of tea again, Alicia. Will you brew me some?’ Trinity was glad he could not read the cook’s lips as Millicent glided away again. He did hear Alicia mutter:
‘Never enough tea. What does she do with all the tea? Water the plants?’
He took that as a cue to leave. He turned and headed toward the back door just as Tonio arrived to help out with serving the supper. The two merely nodded to each other, and Trinity, tugging his collar up against the chill of evening, walked to the pump to wash his face and hands. Far to the north thunder grumbled and a few low-lying stars were hidden behind the screen of approaching clouds. That was all they needed – a storm to lift everyone’s spirits.
There wasn’t much said at the dining room table on that evening. Tonio bustled in and out, taking away used dishes, serving new portions. The kid was dressed in neat black trousers and a crisp white shirt. He smiled frequently, but Trinity could tell that he wished he were back in the stable among his horse friends.
The table, covered with a white linen cloth, held Vincent Battles, seated at one end, Earl Bates at the other. Both glowering, their attention apparently only on their food on this evening. Russell, seated in the chair opposite Trinity’s, remarked that it smelled like rain to him and it would be a hell of a way to have to start a herd that was not trail broken on its way west.
Nobody responded. Holly, seated next to Russell and delicately picking at her food, asked her brother, ‘You are still planning on going with us to Fort Bridger, Russ?’
‘It’s necessary,’ he answered. ‘After the herd is safely delivered … I’ll just have to let the army do whatever they have planned for me.’
‘I don’t like cabbage,’ Millicent said. Her plate was covered with a buttered wedge of cabbage, boiled potatoes and sliced rare beef in gravy. She might have finished three or four bites of meat since sitting down.
‘It suits me,’ Holly said. ‘I’m hungry.’
‘You should be. Why didn’t you show up for breakfast this morning?’ Russell asked.
‘I just felt like an early ride.’
Trinity glanced at her. That wasn’t what she had told him. Holly had said that she didn’t care for Alicia’s Spanish-style eggs. Then why had she been out on the range – following him? That seemed unlikely, but it was possible.
‘Where’s that boy?’ Earl thundered, leaning back to hold his belly with both hands. His plate was empty. ‘I want some more beef and potatoes.’ His eyes shifted to Holly, ‘Still plan on going along on the drive, Sis?’
‘I pretty much have to,’ was her answer. ‘Father and I were the co-signers of the contract with the army. And,’ she said with her eyes down on her plate, ‘I want to make sure that the Owl is paid in full.’
‘I still need my pay,’ Vincent Battles said, his fork halfway to his mouth.
‘Of course,’ Holly said pleasantly. ‘As soon as we return from Bridger. That will be time enough to settle financial matters.’
‘You, Battles,’ Earl Bates said, glaring at him down the long table, You don’t have to go any further with this. I don’t need you on the drive; I’ve got enough men. Why don’t you hang around the Owl and take care of things here? We don’t need two trail bosses.’
‘Oh, don’t get into all of that again, please!’ Millicent said. ‘Can’t we have a few minutes to digest our meals?’
Trinity had a few questions and a few comments to make, but they would likely do nothing more than earn him contempt from Earl Bates and Vincent Battles. He continued to eat in silence.
After everyone had finished eating, Trinity rose and followed Holly into her father’s study. ‘I’m going to look the books over again,’ Holly told him, nodding toward the blue-bound ledgers on her father’s desk.
‘Is the Owl in serious trouble?’
‘We’ve been in better shape,’ she smiled, ‘but things will be much better once we get the herd to Fort Bridger.’ Beneath her smile, Holly still wore a look of concern. He could say nothing to comfort her.
‘If you’d just show me where my room is, I’ll turn in early,’ Trinity said.
‘The men will be staying up by the fire, drinking coffee and brandy. You’re welcome to.…’
‘I don’t really think that’s a good idea, do you?’ Trinity wondered what sort of fuel the brandy would add to the fiery disagreement between Vincent Battles and Earl Bates.
‘I suppose not,’ she admitted. ‘Come along then, and I’ll get you settled.’
Climbing the staircase they reached the upper floor, Trinity walking behind Holly. There were six doors off the corridor. He assumed that some of the doors led to the bedrooms of Holly and her sister. One of the others must belong to Russell. Certainly one had been used by Earl Bates – probably his boyhood room.
Holly seemed to see the thoughts behind Trinity’s eyes. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said with a short laugh. ‘I’m not putting you in with Vincent – he said he prefers to sleep on the leather couch downstairs.’
At the very end of the hall, Holly stood beside a door and swung it open. A breath of stale air met them. The room did not smell exactly musty, but of disuse.
‘This used to be my mother’s sewing room,’ Holly told him, lighting a match to place to the wick in the bedside lamp. ‘There’s a bed, and little else, I’m afraid.’
‘That’s about all I usually require while I’m sleeping,’ Trinity grinned.
‘You’re an easy man to satisfy,’ Holly said, her golden eyes glittering in the lamplight.
‘Most always,’ he said, feeling oddly uncomfortable being alone with her in the room. Their eyes met and held for a few moments longer than necessary, then Holly turned hers away pointedly. Why? Because she was Vincent Battles’s intended? He had never asked her directly about that, although everyone on the Owl seemed to be taking it for granted.
‘I’ll send Tonio up with bed linen,’ Holly said. That was a luxury Trinity was unaccustomed to. ‘Will I see you at the breakfast table?’
‘I doubt it,’ he answered. ‘I’ve been told I’d better make myself useful around here, so I’ll be riding out early.’
‘Where?’
‘Probably up to Dos Picos. I gather that they still haven’t combed all the strays out of those canyons.’ He paused and said quietly, ‘There’s no point in telling anyone else that’s where I’ve gone, Holly.’
‘No, I won’t,’ she answered hesitantly. What was he holding back from her? ‘Not if you don’t want me to. I’ll have Alicia make you a few ham sandwiches to take with you. She’ll leave them out. And there’s always coffee on.’
Trinity nodded his thanks and Holly went out, her boot heels clicking on the wood of the corridor floor. Trinity looked around the small room and began unbuttoning his faded blue shirt. He bent to look out the window which overlooked the bunkhouse area. It seemed relatively quiet over there; perhaps Vincent Battles and Earl had somehow managed to restore order.
Approaching sounds turned Trinity’s head. It was Tonio with folded sheets and a pillowcase across his arm. Entering, the boy tossed the linen down on the bare mattress of the bed.
‘Looks like you’re setting in pretty well, Trinity,’ Tonio commented.
‘It’s all illusion, m
y friend,’ Trinity told him.
‘What?’ Tonio had not understood the remark.
‘I mean that I won’t be around much longer,’ Trinity said. Tonio appeared to be disappointed. ‘Too bad – I will miss having someone here who I can talk to.’
‘You’ve always got the horses, Tonio,’ Trinity said with a warm smile. ‘And they’re probably better listeners than I am.’
Tonio’s smile was like quicksilver, there and then gone. ‘Yes, that is right. I always have the horses.’ If nothing else, he seemed to add silently.
Trinity slept soundly, with only one moment of interruption. He was awakened by the sound of boot heels clicking down the corridor. He considered the sound and lent it no weight. After all, Russell and Earl must climb the stairs and enter their rooms sometime. Nevertheless, he swung his feet to the floor, scratched at his rumpled hair and went to the door of his room. A lifetime of caution caused him to open the door a bare inch and look out. It was difficult to tell in the poor light, but the man standing in front of a door along the corridor, looked like Vincent Battles.
When the door opened, Trinity saw an arm dressed in some flimsy fabric reach out and take the shadow’s hand, leading him into the room.
Trinity frowned, but it was none of his business if Battles visited Millicent, no matter the time of day or night.
With the dawn, Trinity rose from his comfortable bed. It was a dark, bleak dawn. There was no color in the sky, as Trinity saw when he peered out the window of his room. Black storm clouds had settled in across the Owl and silver beads of rain, slanted across the sky, struck the glass of the window and rivuleted away.
He dressed quickly and crept down the stairs, wanting to make his way out before anyone else was stirring. A sleeping form on the couch in front of the cold fireplace surprised him briefly before he recalled Holly saying that Vincent Battles preferred to sleep there. He crept past the Owl foreman, not wanting to answer any questions.
In the kitchen, the dimmest of possible lights glowed. There was a fire in the iron stove that had burned down to no more than a fist-sized collection of glowing coals. He knew the fire could be easily prodded to life, but he had no intention of doing so.
Touching the blue enamel coffee pot resting on top of the stove, he found it still hot and helped himself to a cup. On the nearby counter, as Holly had promised, sat two ham sandwiches wrapped in waxed paper and then in oilskin. These he scooped up and shoved into his coat pocket. Drinking his coffee quickly, he watched out the kitchen window, hoping that no one was yet stirring – but someone was up and busy in the bunkhouse. A lantern glowed there. Probably it was only Cooky busy in his kitchen.
Nevertheless Trinity felt some urgency about his mission. Thunder boomed close at hand and the rain began to fall more heavily. Placing his cup aside he went out into the cold darkness and made his way toward the stable.
The place was as dark as sin. He fumbled around, finding the lantern on the wall where he remembered it hanging, struck a match and brought it to life. By the feeble glow he walked the length of the stalls toward his horse. Other animals watched, some of them as if eager to travel, others sleepyeyed, wondering why this human had chosen to intrude on their slumber.
The piebald seemed neither sleepy nor eager to be moving. Perhaps it had heard the thunder, seen lightning flashes, and knew that it would be a bad day on the trail. Trinity had the same feeling, and with even more reason.
‘It’s got to be done,’ he murmured to the spotted horse as he saddled it and slipped the piebald its bit. From his saddle-bags Trinity recovered his rolled-up slicker and donned it before leading his horse into the gray-black darkness of the stormy dawn.
He rode directly west, the sky colored with reflected dawn light between ragged silver clouds. At times lightning and thunder rumbled and slashed brilliant white against the black, clotted northern skies. Once a shaft of low sunlight pierced through the darkness, lighting the thick grass of the plains, illuminating the silver rain and the far hills, but it was quickly smothered again by the gathered clouds.
Trinity rode on, his head bowed against the wind and the slap of driven rain. No one, he thought, had seen him leave, but in this weather there could be a hundred men around him and he wouldn’t have known it.
By retracing the route he and Holly had ridden, he was able to set his course toward Dos Picos with some certainty. An hour later he found himself entering the mouth of one of the tangled canyons in the notorious stretch of badlands, riding upward into the rugged hills. The rain had eased up slightly; the sky was a little brighter. The winds, however, came howling down the canyons, setting the brush alongside the trail to a violent tremble. Despite the fact that the trail was awash with red mud, he could make out horse tracks here and there, both coming and going from the wild country.
It did not escape his notice that there were no cattle prints to be seen. None! Supposedly the cowboys from the Owl had been riding up into this country each day, hieing out the lost or strayed cattle. Trinity frowned. If they had been doing so, they had been carrying the steers on their backs.
He continued on his way, riding upslope into the face of the rushing wind which whistled eerily through the sagebrush and battered the limbs of the occasional pinyon pine tree he passed. The rain fell steadily, at times in a driving rush which hammered his shoulders and veiled the trail ahead, at times gently and if still persistent, allowing him a view of his chosen path. He could now see the crest of the trail. A rocky outcropping like some ancient sentinel towered against the rainy skies as it had for centuries. At times when the rain closed off his vision, he had now only to keep the craggy bluff on his right shoulder to keep to the meandering trail.
Topping out the grade, Trinity slowed his piebald which he could now feel was laboring beneath him. At the ridge, Trinity halted the horse and gave it time to blow. He could feel the animal shuddering under him and apologized mentally to it for bringing it out in this weather, over this ground.
From the crown of the trail he looked down through the drifting clouds on to the valley below, trying to find an easy path down. He also turned in his saddle to look back, reassuring himself that no man was following him. Clouds wove together and spun themselves across the canyon like gray ghosts. From the higher dark clouds the rain continued to stream down. Trinity took the time to eat one of the ham sandwiches – while his horse rested – before starting down, riding through the low silver clouds as the wind pummeled him. The air was ripe with the scent of sage, fresh with the smell of new rain. The day was cold, still tumultuous and windy, but the skies had brightened to a dull steel color.
He found the flats half an hour on and began riding over the grasslands, his horse up to its hocks in places in cold standing water. He rode more slowly now, his slicker open, the flap of his coat folded back for easier access to his Colt. He continued on without illusions. There were men out here who would kill him for intruding on their secret domain.
Half an hour on, he found what he had been looking for.
SEVEN
The dark herd was bunched against the weather, using each other’s bodies for warmth. Lightning flared up against the sky as thunder rumbled across the meadow. In this weather someone was certain to be riding herd to quell any threat of a stampede. The close strike of lightning or the unexpected roar of thunder could set the skittish herd to running.
Trinity kept his eyes moving as he rose. It was difficult to see much through the mesh of falling rain, but then it would be difficult for an Owl rider to identify Trinity – he would be just another mounted man, in the confusing shadows of the storm.
He approached the herd steadily. He already had most of the answers he needed. Who was obvious – Vincent Battles, not Earl Bates, had been on the scene when the old foreman, Dalton Remy, had been strung up. It was Battles who had brought his own men in and dismissed many of the longtime Owl riders. Remy, of course, had to be gotten out of the way – probably he or his men had come across the second her
d. At any rate, Vincent Battles meant to take his place. Why was also obvious – simply, Battles was here to make some money for himself. A lot of money. He had nothing to fear if the plan failed; Owl would take all of the blame. How Battles meant to do all of this had troubled Trinity for a while, until Tonio told him about the other herd. This herd.
Trinity now began to ride among the cattle. He saw many of the obvious symptoms. They had excessive discharges from their nostrils. They looked at him lethargically with rheumy eyes. He ran his hand across the back of one of the steers, feeling lesions in the hide, and the suppurations left from tick bites.
They had Texas fever.
Probably the herd had been purchased in Mexico for pennies on the dollar compared to what healthy steers would bring, and driven north to be hidden in this valley near the Owl range. The army would find itself in a bind when these cattle were driven into Fort Bridger. Their own examining officer had checked the herd – the real Owl herd – and certified it. The replacement herd couldn’t have even withstood a casual examination.
The point was that the army had already contracted for Owl beef. That could not just be ignored. There would be big trouble for this Lieutenant Ross who had signed the contract, for the base commander. Beyond the army’s own need for beef, Trinity had been told that a part of the herd was intended for the settled Indians, as a part of the price they received to refrain from hostilities. They certainly would not accept these animals; the army would lose any good faith it may have purchased.
Which was why First Lieutenant Trinity Ray Tucker of the army procurement office was here. Suspicions had been raised. From what Trinity knew of it, a few of the riders dismissed by Vincent Battles had done some complaining at Fort Bridger and expressed doubts. Perhaps they had run across a mis-branded steer or the entire hidden herd themselves while actually working the Dos Picos country for strays.
Vincent Battles’s suspicion had been correct – Trinity had hardly met Russell Bates by accident back along the North Platte. Trinity was aware that the young man was AWOL, knew that Russell was heir to the Owl Ranch, and that there was possible trouble down that way. Falling in with Russell gave him entree where he would have had difficulty otherwise explaining his presence on the ranch.